


However Fleeting

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an Angel on your roof. You don’t know how he got there or why, but he’s been there for the past week. And it’s starting to weird you out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	However Fleeting

There’s an Angel on your roof. You don’t know how he got there or why, but he’s been there for the past week. And it’s starting to weird you out.

The first time you saw him among the star-dotted night sky and power lines, you thought someone was planning on jumping. On your house in the middle of a field, no less. What damage could be done with a two-story drop? You didn't answer that question –you called out to him, ordering him to come down. If he didn't, you would go up there and _force_ him.

But he never moved. He stood resolute atop the black, pitched shingles, eyes staring out into the cosmos, gazing at something you couldn't see with your own eyes. At something you couldn't even begin to _fathom_ in comprehension.

The second time, you saw his wings, initially passing it off as a trick of the streetlamps. He only appears at night, you discover. During the day, the sky prevails, omniscient. In the darkness, he stands like he _belongs_ there, tan overcoat swaying with the slightest of breezes, blue tie shifting with every minute movement. His dark hair is ruffled. He’s out of place –an anomaly.

And behind him at all times are the darkest of shapes, spreading in an arch over his head, the longest of pinions reaching towards his feet and fanning out on the tiles. You could have sworn, every time the wind blew that night, you heard music. Songs long forgotten in languages long since passed. Maybe wind chimes, maybe church bells. It’s peaceful, you think. Though, standing in the middle of the street to watch some strange figure probably wasn't the best of ideas. Who knows if anyone else can see him? You could be crazy, staring at a spot on the roof. If your neighbors down the road have noticed, they haven’t spoken a word.

He stands there for a week, every night after you return from the scrap yard, atop your roof. It would be menacing if you hadn’t have grown used to it. Hell, even looked forward to it, now that you think about it. He brings a sense of quiet to your normally hectic life, no matter how small his presence may be. All you know is, while he’s been there, you haven’t had a single nightmare. Your own personal dream catcher, you muse.

You watch him for another week before going up to the roof to confront him. The Bible paints Angels as wrathful, terrifying, awesome figures of pure light and wings and thousands of eyes –but he’s small, quiet. Lonesome. You tell him ‘hello’ on the Thursday of the second week of his stay. He says nothing back, but his hand gives acknowledgement with a twitch. The wind ruffles his coat.

You ask, ‘What’s your name?’ He continues to stare into nothingness, but you swear you see his shoulders slouch. The moon above illuminates his face –he looks tired, drained. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen. Pure cobalt that you could get lost in. ‘I’m Dean,’ you offer as a compromise. He doesn’t say a word. It should annoy you to your very core, but it doesn't. You’re both curious, you figure. You haven’t felt this much wonder since you were a kid, in the same position as you are now, watching the stars with your little brother practically in your lap. Over twenty years have passed. You’re still here. He’s gone on his own path. You see each other occasionally, but not as much as you would like.

In fact, this is the most whole you’ve felt since he headed off to sunny skies and sandy beaches. Since your mother left this realm, since your father went to join her. It’s been years, you realize, that you’ve had this hole inside of you, an eternal emptiness that never wanted to lift. And looking at this man, it feels like he can fill it, just by standing there. Looming. Omnipresent.

His wings twitch with the breeze, moonlight flowing off pearlescent feathers like water. You find yourself with the urge to touch, but you restrain yourself. What gives you the right to touch something so holy? What gives you the right to even be _talking_ to such a being? With that realization, you back away with your tail between your legs –you never deserved to be in his presence, anyway.

A week later, you try again, this time with a gift. You offer him a cup of coffee. It’s a stupid gesture, you know –what kind of complete _moron_ would give an Angel _coffee_? But it’s worth a shot. You have nothing else. You want him to talk to you, despite all your best instincts. And this time, he responds, small as the action may seem. He turns his head to you, then towards the mug in your hands. The wings behind his back ruffle in what you suppose is curiosity. It’s the most he’s moved in nearly a month, and you take it as progress, even if he doesn't accept your kindness.

He speaks to you on the twenty-third day. ‘My name is Castiel,’ he tells you in a voice unfit for a creature of his magnitude. It doesn't match his body. It sounds alien, foreign.

You tell him ‘hello’ and call him by his name. For a fleeting second, you could have sworn you saw him smile. You ask him what he’s doing in the middle of Kansas on a rooftop. He replies with ‘It’s quiet here.’ You agree with a nod, and choose to sit next to his boots. The inky black of his pinions trace lightly on the soft fabric of your shirt, the feeling nothing like you could have imagined. They’re heavy, but gentle, the strength of Heaven combined with the tenderness of a mother’s hand. One touches your neck –you shiver at the sensation. He takes notice but refuses to retreat.

You find yourself drawn to this being and his unearthly presence. You don't know his intentions. But at the same time, you don’t have to. All that matters is that he’s there, and he has no plan on leaving any time soon. Maybe in the future, you can coax him into conversation. Learn his secrets. His resolve. His purpose. Maybe tell him that if he wants to visit, he doesn’t need to stay on the roof. Maybe you could invite him inside.

There’s an Angel on your roof. And maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Matisschaga's](http://matisschaga.tumblr.com) [fanart](http://24.media.tumblr.com/ee813e0d9c542d58982d37584ede9db3/tumblr_mx320oWJN81t4ca94o5_1280.jpg) gave me inspiration for this blurb. I have a thing for Angels and stargazing from rooftops.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
